


More Than Enough

by likehandlingroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 16:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: Molly goes to see Percy after his HBP Christmas visit goes awry.





	More Than Enough

Molly clambered up the stairs, trying to push away the memory of what had happened the last time she’d made her way up to Percy’s flat. How he’d taken one look at her and shut the door. **  
**

But he’d come home, she kept telling herself. He’d come home for Christmas, and it didn’t matter one bit that the Minister had been with him. Did any of them believe for a moment that Cornelius Fudge wouldn’t have done the same, if it had been as simple as suggesting a house call?

Arthur had certainly shouted enough about Percy being a human wiretap, done a marvelous job of making their son feel as if he had to make a drastic choice, right there in the kitchen, that dreadful summer day. 

No, Percy had come home because it was what he wanted. And if he had to use an excuse to do so, then what of it? Surely people were entitled to making things easier, when they could.

Molly stopped at his door, reaching out to knock before she could worry about what happened next.

“Who is it?” The voice coming through the door made Molly jump. She’d been so lost in her memory of this place, so desperate to replace it with something better, that she’d forgotten the new protocols.  

“Percy, dear? It’s Mum,” she said.

But all that came through the door was a silence that made her heart sink into her stomach.

“I know we don’t have a--a question,” she continued, stepping closer to the door. “But I sent you a jumper two weeks ago for Christmas. It was grey. I don’t know if you opened it, but you didn’t send it back, so--”

Percy opened the door. He still looked pale and tired. Drained of all the enthusiasm he’d always been buzzing with, ever since he was small.

“Has something happened?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“No, no!” Molly said. “Everyone’s fine. I only wanted to see you, after...well, we don’t have to talk about that. I only...oh,  _Percy!”_

She rushed to embrace him, and he let her do so without protest, his own arms wrapping about her shoulders. Not tightly. But with intent.

He wanted her there.

“I’m so happy I’ve caught you at home!” she said, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “I’ve no idea what your work hours are now.”

“Well, it’s changing all the time. But I always have Sunday afternoons off,” he said stiffly. “The Minister’s quite firm on giving me those.”

“That’s good of him,” Molly said, still basking in the realization that Percy wasn’t lost to her anymore.

“Would you come in?” Percy asked, not quite meeting her eye.

“Yes,” Molly said, a catch in her voice. “Yes, of course.”

There was something wonderful about hearing the door click behind her, knowing she’d entered a space her son had created for himself. And--after all--he’d have created it eventually no matter what the circumstances. It was a warm space. Well lit and cozy.  No one would guess that the person who lived here was as unhappy as Percy looked to be as of late.

She caught his eye as he came to help her with her cloak, and he tried to return her smile. But she could tell he was still afraid of what her presence would mean.

“I’ll make some tea,” he said, hurrying over to the stove. Molly wandered over slowly, giving him space, giving him time. Meanwhile, there was plenty to take in. 

Percy had brought along most of his books--though his room back at the Burrow still had a good shelf or two left. He’d need another bookshelf to fit them here, Molly thought. The ones he had were already packed full, and still more books lay on the side tables, tucked beside lamps and trinkets.

He had some art on the walls--Muggle, from the looks of it. He liked paintings that stood still. Always had.

“You’ve decorated so nicely in here,” Molly said. “You never saw Charlie’s place, but he...well, he’s always been rugged. And it was clean, I’ll give him that. Though I suppose that could be because he knew we were coming.”

She was properly in the kitchen now, and Percy looked up from the kettle.

“Sit, won’t you?” He pulled out the nearest chair. “Here…and I’ll get some biscuits…”

“...you don’t have to fuss, dear,” Molly insisted. “Sit down.”

“It’s no trouble.” And, indeed, the biscuits were half on the tray by the time he’d finished speaking.

“Really, Percy, it’s the last thing I need…” Molly said, a laugh in her voice. Percy ignored her, setting the tray down. “Now, will you sit?”

He did, slowly. Molly let there be silence, just for a moment. Just so she could be sure of what to say next.

“Perce?” He looked up at her, sharply, eyes wide. “I only want to have tea with my son today, because I haven’t in a very long time. So I don’t want you to think I’ve come wanting anything else.”

Percy only seemed to be half listening.

“I was never angry with you,” he said, looking at the tray of biscuits. “And I know it seemed as though I was, and I’m sorry for that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh,” Molly whispered. She hadn’t expected it, so quickly. Dumbledore had told her it would be difficult for him to find the words, even once he came home.

Well, it just went to show that he  _didn’t_  know everything. And if they’d let Percy speak on Christmas, if they’d given him five minutes or something other than scowls...but she couldn’t think about that, now.

This wasn’t about anyone else. She’d promised herself that, before coming. She wanted to see Percy, and it didn’t matter what Arthur wanted, what Fred and George would say if they knew. It didn’t even matter what Dumbledore had predicted might happen.

Percy was her son, and she was his mother. No one else knew what that meant but them.

“Thank you,” she said, tears in her eyes. “And it’s alright. It’ll be alright.”

The kettle started whistling, and Percy jumped up. Molly could see him wiping his eyes on his sleeve, and his hands were shaking. 

“Here--” Molly joined him at the stove-top and reached for the kettle, forcing herself to finish with the water before reaching her arms out to him. And this time, she didn’t feel the need to hold on so tight.

She could come back next Sunday. Every Sunday. It wouldn’t be everything she wanted. But it would be more than enough.


End file.
